


Sinus Cumanus

by tibeyg



Category: Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asthma, Italian matriarchs, M/M, Sickfic, all those lovely breathing problems, divus tvinkus, hayfever - Freeform, snot and tissues, with which I DEFINITELY don't have first-hand experience!!! hahah!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibeyg/pseuds/tibeyg
Summary: Octavian gets sick (again) and all he wants is to be held in Agrippa's Big Strong Arms.





	Sinus Cumanus

It is Atia who greets him after he thunders down the street, sweating a bit in the bring springtime sun, to rap furiously at the door. 

‘Marcus!’ she says. She is much tinier than him, so she has to reach up quite a bit to pat his face generously. He can see the traces of a patterned scarf among her frazzled hair. ‘Thank God you are here! He’s been impossible all morning. He asks for you, constantly. And also’ – she gestures wildly, ushering him in, and mimes a series of actions indicating anything from vomiting to violent sneezing, then shakes her head – ‘impossible! Upstairs, upstairs, Marcus.’

Gaius is in his room, sitting up in bed. He insists, usually, to dress nicely; he likes his floral patterns and he likes well-fitted (tight) cuts and he likes wearing pink. It looks delicious on him too, bringing out the rosiness of his creamy complexion (he doesn’t see the sun a lot, poor baby, cooped up as he is with all those boring law readings). But today, he’s just in an old T-shirt he’s using as pyjamas, and there are little scrunched-up wads of tissues in and around his lap.

‘Oh, poor baby,’ says Marcus. Gaius’ eyes, he can see now, are all red-rimmed and watery, and his nose is very red. 

‘I hate _everything_ ,’ says Gaius miserably. He extends his arms out and Marcus goes to him, kissing his little fringe and scrambling in beside him. He almost crushes the nebuliser, hiding under a pillow, and moves it to the bedside table. 

‘Asthma attack?’ he asks, balancing the mask on top of the machine.

‘ _Everything_ ,’ says Gaius. ‘Hayfever too. I’m going to _die_.’ He sneezes as if to make a point, and after a little pause, sneezes again. He dabs at his nose with one of the tissues lying around. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says thickly. ‘’Snot contagious.’

‘I know,’ says Marcus. Gaius says it every time. He pats Gaius’ hand, the one not holding the tissue.

Atia comes in then. ‘Coffee for you, Marcus.’ Marcus eagerly accepts his mug, inhaling the earthy scent with delight. ‘I put the biscotti here, yes? I know you like to dip it. But only tea for you, baby.’

‘Don’t call me that, mamma,’ says Gaius, scowling with embarrassment as his eyes dart quickly to Marcus. He takes the tea anyway. A slice of lemon bobs just below the surface, and the teabag tag flutters as the mug changes hands. Gaius looks dubiously down at it, and looks covertly at Marcus’ coffee. 

‘Anything else for you boys?’ asks Atia.

‘No, thank you,’ Marcus says, and ‘No, mamma, go, go,’ Gaius says, and they’re alone again.

Marcus puts the coffee down and kisses Gaius properly, on the mouth, but Gaius turns away to sneeze before he can kiss back. It’s a bit disappointing, but it can’t be helped. 

‘I hate this,’ Gaius says when he stops sneezing. He absently gathers a few of the tissues around him and dumps them into the bin. ‘I can barely _breathe_. Nose blocked. Trachea blocked. And I don’t like _tea_.’ He takes a sip anyway, and makes a face. It’s too sour for him.

‘There, there,’ says Marcus. He gathers Gaius’ body against his and Gaius nestles gratefully into him. He can hear the whistle of Gaius’ constricted breath. ‘Are you all right? Do you need the nebuliser?’

‘Used it before you got here,’ Gaius mumbles.

‘What about Ventolin? You’re breathing really noisily.’

Gaius makes a non-committal sound, so Marcus roots around in the drawers of his bedside table for the little blue puffer and a spacer. He props Gaius up against himself to administer it, and Gaius breathes in and out obediently. He is quite capable usually, but he gets sick often and likes to be treated when it happens. Marcus knows he enjoys the attention, and dispenses it freely.

‘Do you want to lie down?’ Marcus says afterwards, eating his coffee-drenched biscotti. Gaius, in the crook of his arm, shakes his head and rubs the fabric of Marcus’ shirt over his stomach. 

‘I like you holding me,’ he says. ‘You’re so muscly. It’s nice.’ He snuggles in a bit. ‘You have your boxing class now, right? Did I make you miss it?’

‘I don’t mind,’ Marcus responds. ‘It’s on every week. You’re more important to me. Gotta take care of my poorly boyfriend, eh?’ He kisses the top of Gaius’ rumpled head.

Gaius falls asleep, eventually, against his chest. He doesn’t sneeze anymore in sleep, but his nose is still a bit blocked and Marcus can hear him breathe through his mouth. He pulls the blankets over him, rearranges the pillows so that he’s not lying too flat, and crawls out.

The sky is still aglow at this hour during spring. Marcus absently replies to a text from his sister asking where he is and wanders downstairs, where Atia traps him into having dinner with the whole family. He munches quietly on his penne as Gaius’ grandmother loudly criticises Atia’s sauce whilst shovelling as much of it as she can into her mouth, whilst Gaius’ stepfather asks Gaius’ little sister Octavia about what she’s been learning at school and is answered with a complex series of grunts. 

Gaius appears in the doorway as Marcus tucks into his second helping. He’s pulled on a thin pink jumper, and looks adorably mussed and confused with sleep. 

‘Gaius! How are you feeling?’ his family booms. Gaius’ eyes meet Marcus’.

‘Terrible. What can I eat?’

He gets a clear broth, and drinks it miserably in spoonfuls. Marcus feeds him a tube of penne out of pity, but that’s all Atia will allow him to have. His nose seems to have dried up a bit, as he doesn’t spend the whole meal wiping it, but his grandmother still leans across the table and pinches his cheek, telling him that he looks awful and peaky and why doesn’t he do more exercise with Marcus, who’s so big and strong, instead of sitting around reading books all day? And Gaius says that yes, he does, but he has a lot of work to do if he’s going to shake up Italian politics, and asthma is chronic anyway so it wouldn’t help much. And Marcus, finishing the last bites of his penne, entwines his fingers with Gaius’ under the table and squeezes his hand supportively.

He offers to wash up, but Atia tells him not to be silly and makes a grouching Octavia do it instead. The two of them duck out into the little courtyard, enclosed on all sides with terracotta-plastered walls. In the warm evening air, the fragrance of the growing herbs in the vegetable patch is heady. Gaius tucks himself into Marcus’ arms and gives him very soft little kisses, ones which won’t make him have to hold his breath for a long time, and gazes happily up at him.

‘Thanks for putting up with me all afternoon,’ he says adoringly. ‘ _And_ with my family.’

‘I don’t mind. All families are like this, anyway. I’m glad you feel better now.’

‘It’s the damn springtime. And mamma keeps bringing her flowers inside the house.’ He tucks his head back against Marcus’ shoulder. ‘No one else will ever see me like this,’ he says softly, and Marcus understands at once. Gaius is cutting quite a figure already, with a polarising charisma which has created dissenters that Marcus has had to firmly put aside. His health problems are a point of vulnerability, and he has entrusted Marcus with the guardianship of them. He tightens his grip on Gaius, fierce with love.

‘I’ll always be here to take care of you, then.’

‘I know,’ says Gaius, and he sucks in a comically huge breath, and then kisses him.

And there is nothing Marcus could possibly ever love more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> The historical basis for this is that Octavian got sick a lot, and was Definitely gay with Agrippa.
> 
> If you like the enemies-to-lovers trope then check out [my gf's gay novel](http://valeaida.tumblr.com/post/149576789996/an-elegy-info-post), illustrated by me!


End file.
